


Coming of the Dawn

by adrasteamoon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, POV Alternating, Post Season 7, Reunions, Romance, War, Will Probably End Up Arya Centric, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-02-17 13:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13077918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrasteamoon/pseuds/adrasteamoon
Summary: Winter has arrived and the Second War for the Dawn is beginning. After years apart, the Starks are finally able to reunite with one another, and with people the thought they'd never see again. At Winterfell, they must prepare for the Long Night that is to come if they are to have any chance of surviving.





	1. Jon I

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first long fic and it's my take on season 8 (or what I'd idealistically want it to be). I've got around 25 chapters planned out so far, but it'll likely end up more. Mix of book and show cannon, really just whatever suits the story best. Hope you enjoy!

The journey from Dragonstone to White Harbor had been a long one, made even longer by an unforgiving winter storm that had hit them on the last leg of their route. The party was more than a week past the date they had been originally expected to arrive, but arrive they finally had. Jon was glad to feel solid ground beneath him again as he stepped onto docks. Aside from the Iron Islanders, the people of the North made their way by foot and horse, rarely by ship. He was not prone to seasickness like some, but he was still happier to be off the rocking waves. 

The only thing Jon would miss now that the voyage was over was the private time it had afforded him with Daenerys. Over the course of the journey, the two had grown intimate, more than just physically so. The nights spent in her bed were a welcome reprieve from the onslaught of duties as they prepared for war, and a chance to unburden himself for a time. But now that they were to travel North with the entirety of their host, their would be precious little opportunity for what had developed between them to continue.

 _Perhaps it is for the best,_ Jon thought. _I broke my vows with Ygritte and look at what became of it. Now I do the same thing with Daenerys._ True, he was no longer a man of the Night's Watch and was beholden to a vow of celibacy no more, but being with Daenerys still felt like a betrayal. He'd been chosen as the King in the North and he had bent the knee to a foreign queen without so much as consulting his advisors. Though he felt sure it was ultimately the right choice and necessary to win the war and bring peace, Jon knew it would not be popular amongst the people of the North. And it would only add insult to injure when they learned that he had lain with her.

 _I really do know nothing,_ he thought bitterly.

Though, it might still be some time before the people even knew that Jon had ceded the North to Queen Daenerys. After much discussion, it had been decided that Jon would retain his title as King in the North, at least for the time being, and that they would present their working together as a simple alliance. Jon had been staunchly against it, as lying to his people went against everything he knew about honor. He had said as much when Tyrion had suggested it at a war council.

"I bent the knee and swore fealty to Deanerys, and I meant it," he had said hotly. "I will not falsely say otherwise."

Daenerys had spread her hands in a soothing gesture. "It is not false. You recognized me as your queen, and as queen, I am free to decide how I want the kingdoms to be ruled. And I want you to rule in the North as king, knowing that you are loyal to House Targaryen."

"When I first came to Dragonstone, you wanted me to renounce my title and give you the North."

"Yes, I did," she conceded. "When my only thought was of taking back the Iron Throne. But now there is a different war to win, and we will need the support of the Northern people if we are to win it, and they will not take kindly to me if they believe I have stolen their king from them."

Before Jon could say another word, Tyrion had interjected dryly, "I know you have a hard-on for honor and whatnot, but this is what must be done. Daenerys is not loved in the North nor does she know it's customs, and we cannot afford uncertainty or distrust if we want to succeed. It's only temporary, and we can discuss bringing the North back into the fold of the Iron Throne once we win the war. Your people will likely be much more amenable to Queen Daenerys once she's helped to save their sorry hinds from the dead."

The logic of their statements had their merit and Jon had been tired of arguing; he'd agreed to do it, albeit somewhat reluctantly. So King he remained, even if it was mostly a hallow title.

His thoughts were broken as Daenerys came up from behind him to stand at his side, a warm fur cloak wrapped about her white winter dress. She looked up at the collection of buildings sprawled around the harbor, all of them frosted white and presided over by an ancient stone castle at the top of the cliff.

"I've never seen a whole city covered in snow before," she murmured quietly. "Truthfully, I didn't think the North had towns as large as this."

Jon nodded. "White Harbor is the biggest city in all the North. It's ruled by House Manderly, one of the most loyal families and staunchest supporters the Starks have known."

Daenerys turned her pale violet eyes on Jon. "Does that bode well for my arrival here?"

"They may not like it, but they will support me and, as long as we are allies, you."

She nodded briskly. As more of their party began to disembark, a plump middle-aged man with a long greying mustache and a merman emblazoned on his armor approached them, followed by a handful of city guardsmen wielding tridents.

He stopped before Jon and made a single bow. "Welcome back to White Harbor, my King. I hope your journey was well."

Jon resisted the urge to frown at being addressed as a king, which still did not sit right with him, but he nodded to the knight anyway. "Thank you, Ser Wylis. My journey was well, or as well as traveling to the South can be."

The heir to White Harbor smiled and said, "Aye, I'd say there's nothing below the Neck worth making a trip for. I think I should never leave the North again as long as I live."

He could not resist a small smile himself; he'd missed Northerners and their icy attitudes towards the South. After a moment, Jon turned and gestured his hand towards Daenerys. "Ser Wylis, allow me to introduce you to Queen Daenerys Targaryen. She has allied herself with the North and pledged her men and her dragons to help us in the fight against the dead."

The mirth dropped from the fat knights face at the mention of Daenerys, but he still bowed to the queen. "The North is grateful for your aide, Your Grace. Your Dorthraki and Unsullied men have been waiting outside the city for your arrival this past week. I must say, the people have been quiet uneasy with a host so large camped just outside our doors."

"My apologies, Ser Wylis," Daenerys spoke graciously, ignoring the obvious disdain from the Northerner. "We did not intend to be at sea for as long as we were, but a storm delayed us. There wasn't to much trouble, I hope?"

Wylis shook his head, "In truth, they kept to themselves and did little to bother us within the city. Still, it'll be a relief to see the army head North."

"Of course. We shall make for Winterfell as soon as possible," she said with a smile.

"Aye," Jon interjected. "We mean to stay only a night to ready our supplies and leave in the morning. Will your father object to our staying at New Castle?"

Ser Wylis again smiled, seemingly a little thawed to Queen Daenerys. "My father lives to serve the King in North, and will be glad to have you. I'll have my men ready some horses." With that, he bowed again and returned to the trident-carrying guardsmen at the end of the dock.

Daenerys took a long breath and turned towards Jon, "Hardly the warmest of welcomes, but a welcome nonetheless. You were right that Manderlys would support our alliance."

"If only the rest of your introductions go so well," Jon spoke quietly, and his queen nodded in agreement. Just then, Jon caught sight of two people whom he wished to discuss with and he excused himself from Daenerys.

Gendry and Ser Davos nodded respectfully as he approached, but did not bow. They knew Jon never cared for men bowing to him. "What can I do for you, Your Grace?" Davos asked.

"Actually there is something I was hoping Gendry could do for me."

"Me? You want-" Gendry sputtered, before straightening up. "Anything, as long as I don't have to go beyond that damn wall again."

Jon chuckled at the younger man's words. "No, nothing like that. There is another ship that will be coming from Dragonstone carrying the dragonglass we've mined. I want you to wait for the shipment here and then escort it Winterfell, where I mean to put you in charge of forging weapons from it."

For a moment, the black-haired bastard didn't say anything, and Jon could see his mind whirling behind his blue eyes. Sometimes, in moments like these when Gendry seemed to be thinking of a million different things, Jon wondered if there was something the boy wasn't telling him.

Finally he spoke, "Thank you, m'lord. I never thought I'd be honored enough to be in charge of my own smith. But I want to do more than just forge weapons, I want to wield them. I want to fight."

"They'll be plenty of time for that, make no mistake," it was Davos who spoke, clapping the blacksmith on his back. "But we won't even get a chance to fight if we don't have weapons that we can kill those dead sons of bitches with. We need a good smith to arm our men."

Gendry nodded and a look of contemplation passed over his face. A shout echoed from across the docks and Jon turned to see Ser Wylis beckoning from the street and his men holding the reigns of half a dozen or more horses. As he turned and began making his way towards the knight, Jon thought of all that had been accomplished since leaving the North. Winning the trust of Queen Daenerys, securing a supply of dragonglass, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that the wights and Others were real, and agreeing to a truce with Cersei. It was more than he could have ever hoped for.

_But there is still so much to do._


	2. Sansa I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a very long time, I know. I've been crazy busy with school, but hopefully with things winding down I'll be able to continue writing much more quickly. That said, I hope you enjoy the chapter and I always love to hear what you guys think in the comments!

"...and with the current stock of grain and other provisions, we will not be able to support the number of refugees who continue flood Winterfell from the more northern villages. The risk of disease and death also increases with every person we take in. I fear we cannot allow more people inside the walls."

Sansa resisted the urge to sigh loudly at the Maester's dire predictions; he had been saying much the same for over a week now, but a credible solution had yet to be agreed upon. Instead, she placed her hands neatly in her lap and looked him square in the eyes as she spoke. "I understand your concerns, Maester Wolkan, but what would you have me do? These people flee their homes because an army of wights and Others have crossed the Wall. They are loyal subjects of the North, and I will not lock our doors and leave them to die. Winterfell will remain open until such time as we no longer have space, and then we shall work on setting up lodgings around the walls and in Winter Town."

Wolkan bowed his head respectfully. "Of course, my Lady. I had not meant to suggest that we should not provide aid. But the matter still remains that we cannot feed all these people for many more months."

This was unfortunately true. Sansa had done all she could to gather and ration supplies, but the autumn had not been kind to the North. Between the war and the rapidly approaching winter, very little had been harvested in the past few years. However, some hope had arrived in the form a raven from White Harbor they'd received that morning.

"Jon's letter says that he has left White Harbor with the Dragon Queen and her host," Sansa replied, tapping her finger on the edge of the paper laying on the table in front of her. "They bring with them a large amount of supplies, including food."

"The also bring hundreds of more mouths to feed and bodies to find shelter for," the Maester countered.

The Lady of Winterfell leaned back in her chair. Yes, the North needed the support of Daenerys and her army to fight against the dead, but housing them all at Winterfell would prove to be a chore.

"The Lannisters have pledged to send an army as well," Sansa murmured, her head crowded with the number of soldiers that would soon overrun the castle. Even with the extra supplies from the Targaryen queen, they could not possibly feed so many for the duration of the winter. "Cersei has agreed to aid us with troops, perhaps she will consent to send provisions as well."

Wolkan nodded. "I will send a raven to King's Landing at once."

"Send them to Dorne and the Iron Islands as well; they are supporters of Queen Daenerys and therefore our allies as well. Write to White Harbor and other towns on the sea, ask them to fish as heavily as possible and send us what they can spare. And make sure that every keep knows that should they flee to Winterfell that they should bring all the supplies they can manage."

With a final bow, Maester Wolkan turned and swept out of the study where Sansa kept her counsel. With the meeting finally over, Sansa released the sigh she had been holding in and closed her eyes. The decisions she had made were far from permanent solutions, but they were a step in the directions of keeping the people safe.

"Do you really trust that Cersei will actually help us?" The low voice from the corner of the room made Sansa jump. Though she'd known that Arya was there, watching and listening to the meeting in without comment as she often did, the younger Stark had a way of staying so still and silent that her presence in a room could easily be forgotten about.

Sansa turned in her chair to look at Arya, who stood stiffly straight next to the wall with her hands clasped behind her back. It was strange to think that this orderly and disciplined woman, whose clothes were never an inch out of place and who could patiently keep watch for hours without moving or making a sound, was the same rambunctious child who used to run about with servant's children playing silly games and talking loudly without a care. It saddened Sansa to think of how hardened her little sister had become, and it scared her too to think of what had caused such a once-lively girl to become so tightly controlled.

Sansa sighed again. "I wouldn't trust Cersei not to send men to attack us rather than help defend us, and I wouldn't trust her not to poison any food she provided. But we are desperate, so we'll have to make due if we want to survive."

Arya simply nodded once, and Sansa continued in a tired voice, "I wish Jon were here, then we could figure something else out together."

"He'll be here soon, then you won't have to wait anymore." There was a note of... well, Sansa wasn't entirely sure what it was she heard in her sister's voice. Unsurety? A pang of sadness? Whatever it was, it was completely unexpected.

She couldn't keep from a tone of surprise when she asked, "Aren't you excited? I thought you would be dying to see Jon."

"Of course I am." Again, there was a note of something unsaid in Arya's voice.

"But..." Sansa prompted, her face expectant.

Arya paused for a moment and it seemed to Sansa that in that instant she deflated, her rigid posture slouching a bit and her neutral expression pulling into a furrowed brow. "But... I am not the same person I was when I left Winterfell. He doesn't even know me anymore."

Sansa shook her head. "We've all changed, Arya. If the two of us can make amends after everything, I'm sure you've got nothing to worry about with Jon. He always loved you most."

"That's the point!" Arya exclaimed suddenly, and the frustration and fear in her words shocked Sansa. "Jon was the only one who understood me when we were children, and I was the only one who didn't treat him like a bastard. I know how much he loved me. But the little sister that he loved, that he looked out for, that he has missed for all these years is dead. I've been a killer and a thief and a slave and more, but I wasn't Arya Stark for a long, long time. What if he's repulsed by the things I've done, of who I've become?

"I don't think I can lose Jon." Arya's voice was near a whisper as she finished, and for a few moments, the silence gathered in the room between the sisters.

Sansa straightened and pulled herself to her feet, gathering her skirt her hands. "Come with me," she said purposefully and strode out of the study without waiting for a response. She didn't hear Arya's footsteps behind her, but that didn't mean anything; she knew without glancing back that her little sister was following.

Up a small flight of stair, down a long hallway, and out a door to the right. They were on walkway atop the outermost walls of the castle now, and a cold wind snapped around Sansa as she continued forward. Her stride never slowed until she could see from the walls the courtyard of Winterfell.

The main buildings were the same dark grey that they had always been, though there were darker shadows of soot across the stone. Much of the outer wood buildings and walkways had been burned away when Ramsay had put the torch to the castle. What had been rebuilt was lighter in color and more simplistic than the old, and gaps still remained where the reconstruction was not yet finished. The yard would have once been a bustle of activity; guards practicing, servants going to a fro, hunters with their hounds bringing in kills from the Wolfswood, and children trying to keep out from underfoot the adults while they played. There was still much activity going on, but it was of a different kind now. Men, women, and children completed basic drills with the master-at-arms, preparing for the war that would soon be on their doorstep. Others worked on repairing the damage to the buildings and shoring them up for winter. Tents and other non-permanent shelters set up by those who sought safety from the dead crowded around the open space near the library tower, kitchen, and smithy. If Sansa had not known in her heart of hearts that this was Winterfell, it would have seemed completely unrecognizable to her.

The Lady of Winterfell turned her head to look at her sister, who had joined her side at the railing of the wall. "What is it that you see when you look out here?"

"It's Winterfell," Arya said as if it were obvious, but when Sansa did not respond, she added, "It's our home."

Sansa nodded. "Yes, it is. But it has changed so much since we left for King's Landing. Look around and you'll see that almost nothing is the same about Winterfell anymore. But it is still our home, no matter what."

She paused to look Arya in the eyes as she continued, "And you are Jon's sister no matter what. He's changed too, you know. When you last met, he was a bastard boy who felt sure he'd never have a place in the world anywhere but the Wall. Now he's a king and a leader of armies, all of which he's earned. He'll understand that you've changed and that you did what you had to to survive. We all did. And he'll always love you."

"When did you get so smart?" Arya's voice sounded a bit amazed, but Sansa could see the hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"I've always been this smart," she stated matter-of-factly. "You were always just too stupid to realize it till now."

Arya smiled for real this time, sharper and less certain than the smiles of her childhood, but it was a start, and Sansa returned with a bright smile of her own. She couldn't say the last time she'd felt such an easy happiness like the one she felt now standing next to her sister. Certainly before they'd gone to King's Landing, back when her family was together.

The Starks had suffered much and lost much in the years that had followed, but the pack had survived. Now she and Arya and Bran were safe at Winterfell, and Jon would back home soon. Whatever the winter brought with it, Sansa felt sure that the pack would endure now that they were finally together.


	3. Arya I

The North was colder than Arya remembered. Even clothed in layers of treated leather and wrapped in a cloak, she still felt chilled to the bone as she stood in the yard of Winterfell. Of course, the worst winter in the living history of man had begun, which could account for the change. But Arya didn’t think that was all to it; after all, it was still only the start of winter and so far the days were no colder than a particularly bad period of summer snowstorms. No, the problem was that Ayra had _forgotten_ what the cold felt like.

It had been warm in the South when she and her family had left for their disastrous stay in King’s Landing. When she had fled and spent all those years struggling to survive in the Riverlands, it had been warm then too. The weather had begun to get colder in the end, as autumn set in across Westeros, but she had boarded a ship and set sail across the Narrow Sea by that point. And it was always hot in Braavos, even at night.

Arya had become accustomed to the heat, to the feeling of the sun beating down on her and sweat dripping down her back as she worked. Now, it was the cold of her homeland that felt foreign, working its way through her body like an unwanted invader. But she would never make her discomfort known, not even to her sister. It would just be more proof that she wasn’t the Arya she once was.

Jon probably thought it felt balmy here in Winterfell. He’d spent all his time since he left even further up North, and according to Sansa had crossed the Wall and traveled beyond more than once. He was likely even more comfortable in the cold than when she last saw him. It was because of Jon that Arya was even out standing in the cold at all; a rider had arrived at the gates earlier in the morning to bring word that the King in the North would soon arrive, accompanied by Daenerys Targaryen and her entire host.

“Riders at the gate!” The yell came from one of the guardsmen on the outer wall, and Arya’s whole mind and body snapped to attention. Beside her, Sansa turned to smile down for a moment at her younger sister, whose grey eyes were trained on the entrance to Winterfell with a burning intensity. The gate was cranked up, far too slowly for Arya’s taste, and after what seemed like an unbearably long moment, two figures on horseback rode into the yard.

She couldn’t breathe. _Jon_. He was there, sitting astride a black destrier with a fur cloak draped around his back. His brown curls were longer than she’d ever seen them, and his hair was pulled back into a half bun like the kind their father used to wear. And he even had a beard now, as well as a few scars on his face. He looked the part of a solemn Northern lord perfectly, and Arya couldn’t believe how much older he seemed.

So focused on her brother was Arya that she didn’t even take notice of the beautiful, fair-haired woman who had ridden in next to Jon, though the people of Winterfell gathered in the yard certainly did. She didn’t see the many other people on horseback and on foot who had begun to stream through the gates after Jon, nor did she hear the shouts of “King in the North!” or notice that everyone around had lowered themselves respectfully into a bow for the returning ruler, including Sansa at her side. She saw only Jon.

He looked to where she was standing, and two pairs of grey eyes made contact across the yard. He was off his horse in a moment, and she was striding forward as well. They both sped up, and for the first time in a long time, Arya had no sense to keep her feelings in check. They were almost at a run when they collided, arms wrapping around each other in an instant. 

Jon held onto her tightly and kissed the top of her head. “Oh, little sister. I missed you so much. I was so worried about you,” he whispered, his voice thick.

Arya closed her eyes and pressed the side of her face against his chest. She didn’t say anything, didn’t trust herself to speak without her emotions betraying her. But it didn’t matter because Jon understood, of course he did, it was _Jon_ , and he just held her for a few more moments, and their embrace said everything that she could not. When they did finally break apart, he still kept her close, his hands resting on her arms.

“Look at you, little sister. All grown up now.” There were tears in his eyes, but he was smiling.

Arya smiled too, a real one. “As are you, _my king_.” She dipped her head, the closest she could come to bowing before her brother without feeling silly, and Jon chuckled awkwardly and dropped his hands to his side.

“Yes… I never thought I’d end up here, did I? It should be Robb.” He looked down, the grief for their lost brother apparent.

“Well,” Arya said, her smile saddening. “I can think of no one else who Robb would want to succeed him. Besides, nobility suits you.” She’d thought as much when she saw him enter the yard, and her sincerity was evident in her words.

Jon didn’t say anything, just looked down at her, taking in her leather armor and pants and the thin blade strapped at her side. “Now, this look fits you, much better than any dress they used to force you to wear. Is that the same sword I gave you when you left?”

“Needle,” Arya nodded, resting her hand on the hilt. “It’s saved my life many times, and I’ve taken good care of it.”

He smiled. “I’m sure you have.”

More people began to approach the pair, perhaps having decided that their reunion had lasted long enough. First it was Sansa, who smiled brightly at Arya as she came over. She wrapped Jon in a quick embrace and murmured, “I’m glad you’re home, Jon.” It was a sight Arya never thought she’d see, her older sister and bastard brother getting along so well, but it made her glad. Their family had been through too much to let foolish childhood squabbles tear them apart now.

Next came the woman who’d ridden in with Jon. She walked up and paused a foot or so away from the group. With her pale skin, silver-blonde hair wrought into complicated braids, violet eyes, and winter dress of black and red, Arya knew she could be none other than Daenerys Stormborn herself. Jon turned to look at the young woman as she approached.

“I guess some introductions are in order. Sansa, Arya, this is Queen Daenerys Targaryen. She has agreed to give the North her forces to fight the army of the dead. Daenerys, these are my sisters Arya and Sansa.” Jon gestured to each person as he introduced them.

Sansa curtsied and Arya gave a shallow bow. It escaped neither of their notice that Jon used the woman’s name and not her title.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your grace. The North is grateful for your aid in the coming war and we hope that you will find your stay in Winterfell comfortable.” Sansa greeted, ever the perfect lady.

Daenerys smiled. “Thank you, Lady Sansa, for your warm welcome. It’s wonderful to finally meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you from my Hand and from your brother. And you as well, Lady Arya.”

“It’s just Arya, actually. I’m not a lady.” Neither Jon nor Sansa could contain a smile. “Did you bring your dragons with you?”

“Yes, I did. My children are nearby, and they’ll likely venture towards the castle soon.”

Now that would be an interesting site to see, fully-grown dragons flying over Winterfell. Even in the days of the old Targaryen kings, it was not often that a dragon or its rider ventured so far North.

Suddenly, as if he was remembering something, Jon looked around through the crowd of people. “Where’s Bran? Your letter said that he’d returned home.”

Arya and Sansa shared a meaningful look, and for a moment neither of them said anything. Finally, Sansa managed, “Bran is here, he’s simply… resting in his room right now. He does want to see you though, he made that very clear.” Sansa glanced towards Daenerys. “He would like to meet you as well, Your Grace.”

The queen smiled again. “I should very much like to meet more of Jon’s family. Will he be joining us for supper?”

Another look passed between the two sisters. It seemed Jon wasn’t the only one on a first name basis.

“Yes, Your Grace, I believe he will.” Sansa seemed to struggle for words before she continued. “You should know, Jon, that Bran can be… well, a little strange. He’s been through a lot and sometimes he says things that don’t make a lot of sense.

Arya knew that she was trying to warn Jon of their brother’s new attitude without revealing the power of his visions in front of the queen. They had both agreed that was something that should be kept between the family.

Jon just shook his head. “I’m sure we’ll manage. Why don’t we head inside, we can continue our talks there.” They all nodded and began to head towards the doors of the Great Keep.

As they were walking, Arya caught sight of a tall, scarred figure standing near one of the wagons from the queen’s retinue and stopped dead in her tracks. The others turned back to look at her curiously.

“That’s the Hound.” She stated matter-of-factly. “I thought he was dead.”

Jon followed her line of sight, “I found him in a cell at the Wall with Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr. He went beyond the Wall with us, helped us capture a wight.”

“Interesting,” was all Arya said, then she strode purposefully away from the group and towards the other man. Sansa called out for her to wait, perhaps remembering the ugly events on the Kingsroad and fearing that her sister sought retribution, but Sansa didn’t know all that had happened since. So Arya simply ignored her sister and strode on until she was face to face with the man himself.

He looked nearly exactly as Arya remembered, he even had the same constantly aggravated look he’d always had as he turned to look at the young girl.

“So you didn’t die after all, Clegane,” Arya said by way of greeting.

“No thanks to you, wolf bitch, leaving me to die on a mountain,” the man stated gruffly, though there was no real anger in his voice. “Suppose you’re sad to see me still around.”

Arya shook her head and the Hound looked surprised. “Really? You seemed to want me dead an awful lot before.”

“I guess I changed my mind,” she said with a shrug. “Besides, if I had really wanted to kill you, I would have done it when you were begging me to.”

The Hound huffed in response. “See you still have that damn skinny sword of yours. What was it’s stupid fuckin’ name? Weasel?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Needle. And I’ve learned how to use it pretty good, so you know.”

“All that twirling shit you practiced? You’ll get killed as soon as someone who can really use a sword comes at you.”

A sly smile slipped across Arya’s face. “That’s just slashing and hacking. And I could kick your ass any day.”

Clegane actually laughed, a rough barking sound. “Aye, we’ll see about that one, little wolf.” He went back to unloading items from the wagon and Arya turned to head back toward the keep. She nodded to her brother, sister, and the queen as she passed, all of whom had been watched the exchange from a distance. They had been too far away to hear anything, but they had certainly seen the smile and laugh shared at the end.

As Arya stepped further into the warmth of the keep, she heard Jon’s confused exclamation, “What in the Seven Hells was that all about?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” came Sansa’s mystified response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This? was so much longer? than it was ever supposed to be? Anyways, I was originally going to include Bran in this reunion, but he just felt so out of place in the moment. Hope the Arya/Hound reunion makes up for it, it just felt way more natural. Anyways, I hope you like it and I love reading your comments!


End file.
